


Come Little Children

by awyrmofmyword



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: ... sort of, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Minor Character Death, References to Abuse, Stalking, an au of LAOFT, consented kidnapping?, death of an abuser, eventual kidnapping, familial relations all around, he's leaning unsympathetic but is definitely not irredeemable, includes the fae tendency to (points at child) 'that one is mine thx', morally skewed virgil, this is a 'what if virgil had slightly more unseelie morals' fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24129646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awyrmofmyword/pseuds/awyrmofmyword
Summary: “… Can you tell me about the Fair Folk?”“The Folk come in all shapes and sizes, from small pixies to those who are as big as people, and sometimes even bigger. They can have sharp teeth or pointed ears or animal features, they can be warm as sun or cold as snow, but no matter what they look like, they cannot lie, they love trickery while maintaining an outer politeness, and… they adore children.”A 'what if' fic based on Love and Other Fairy Tales by SoDoRoses (FairyChess), specifically the one-shot Superstore. What if Virgil had learned slightly more Unseelie morals as he grew, and how would it affect his want to care for children?
Comments: 19
Kudos: 85





	Come Little Children

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoDoRoses (FairyChess)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/gifts).
  * Inspired by [every other page is a mirror](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15749508) by [SoDoRoses (FairyChess)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses). 



> This fic is was initially inspired by the cover of Come Little Children by Adriana Figueroa (original song by Erutan). Many thanks to my betas, centreoftheselights, MagicQuill42, and Nerdyandsalty for previewing and giving me feedback on this!

“Child, come down, you’re scaring me swinging so high, and we have to go home.”

Darla swings more, pouting, wiggling on the wooden seat so she doesn’t go numb. “Mama, can’t we pleeeeaaaase stay for a little bit more?? You were fine with me swinging before!”

Her mother watches her from the ground, gaze worried, and holds out her arms.

“Before it was light, and we were to be here only for a little while. Sweetie, please come now, we mustn’t stay here any longer. I should not have brought you out to this part of the woods for berrypicking in the first place, but to stay- I thought the swing was a good sign at the time, of humans, but- what if the Folk find you charming and decide to follow us home to take you?”

Darla blows a raspberry and wiggles some more, to her mother’s concerned gasp.

“They wouldn’t take me, I lie and I like to lick mudcakes.”

“On the contrary, child, we do not know what they would like about you and we cannot be here any longer to let them know more,” Mama says hurriedly. “Sweetie, please.”

“Fiiine…”

Darla swings a little more still, but when her mother gestures again, she finally gives in. _Jumping is still lotsa fun anyway!_

“Mama, Mama, catch me!”

Darla prepares to jump from her swing, unable to stop her eager giggles at the promise of being caught, and leaps off—

Leaps off, and—

_For a moment, it’s cold._

_So cold. The kind of winter-cold that seeps into your bones and drains the energy from you with every intaken breath. The cold that fills you from the outside in, until it feels as if all you have ever known is the cold. It takes you over until you are frostbit, and blued—_

“Oof!!”

And then the next moment she’s in her mama’s arms, dizzyingly warm and blinking in shock.

“Come along, love, we’re leaving,” her mother says softly, grabbing their berry basket and hurrying to the path. “You’re chilled, for all we know that swing was enchanted- don’t worry, we’ll get you into a nice warm bath, and then I’ll sing you to sleep, alright?”

Darla’s lips move to answer, but she finds herself unable to form words, so she simply nods and lays her head in the crook of her mother’s neck.

The cold has left, but she still feels like she shouldn’t let go, and she clings to Mama all the way home.

. . .

“Mama?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

Darla looks up at her mother seated on the rocking chair from where she’s lying on the floor, the crayons she’s picking out laid before her, and purses her lips.

“… Can you tell me about the Fair Folk?”

Her mother glances down at her with an anxious look. “They’re not always kind to humans, dear, and they may be listening to us…”

“Pretty please?”

Mama dithers a moment more before sighing and nodding. Darla lets out an excited squeal and pulls up her paper to draw- they always come best when she’s listening to someone talk.

“The Folk come in all shapes and sizes, from small pixies to those who are as big as people, and sometimes even bigger. They can have sharp teeth or pointed ears or animal features, they can be warm as sun or cold as snow, but no matter what they look like, they cannot lie, they love trickery while maintaining an outer politeness, and… they adore children.”

Darla listens intently as she draws, mouth hanging open. Her mother chuckles slightly and reaches to shut it before continuing.

“Whether it means they love to have them as company or as dinner, though, depends on the individual. That is how you get Changelings and stocks in place of a child, or have one pixie-led into a ring for a dance that lasts decades, or even one charmed in to be devoured like a fox charms the chickens.”

Darla swallows and looks down at the picture she’s drawn.

_A tall man, pale, with pointed ears and purple eyes and long, sharp teeth and claws, in a purple shirt and black pants._

“Would they appear in dreams, Mama?”

Her mother looks down at her with a sharp gaze. “Have you been having dreams, Darla?”

Darla squeaks and shakes her head rapidly. “No!! I just… I wanna write a story, and I wanna be, uh, real-lipstick.”

“Realistic?”

“Yeah, I said that.”

Her mother sighs softly and reaches down to stroke her head.

“Perhaps you ought to leave the Folk to the real world, love, and away from your tales. We don’t want them to take offence or too much of a liking to them.”

“How much is too much, Mama?”

Her mother shakes her head and looks out the window, nervous.

“Even a little bit. I can’t have you taken from me like other children have been, okay? You must stay right here with me, love.”

Darla giggles some.

“I won’t ever leave you, Mama, not even for the pixies.”

Mama turns to give her a gentle smile.

“That’s good to hear.”

. . .

It’s on the first day of the fall that Darla first sees him.

She’s all dressed up in her prettiest outfit, a baby blue dress with little yellow flowers decorating it, pale yellow tights, a white sweater, and a matching headband to keep her curly hair back and out of her face. Mama warned her it might get dirty, but all her books say you gotta be pretty to make a good imp-rushing for the first day of school.

And besides, Darla doesn’t like to be in dirt anyway, unless it’s to make mud-cake.

“Are you ready, sweetie?” her mother calls from the porch, and Darla grabs her lunch and backpack and hurries out the door.

“Here I am!”

“Good,” Mama murmurs, crouching to tug Darla’s clothes neat and help her into her backpack. “Now, Ms. Henry is going to take you to school, and you—“

“Hafta be good for her and nice to Millie and Bill, I know, Mama,” Darla says sincerely. “I’m nice to them anyway, they’re my friends!”

Mama nods, the pinched expression still on her face, and Darla reaches up to smooth out her forehead-line.

“I’m gonna be safe, Mama,” she promises. “If I see a faery I’ll turn my sweater around so they can’t get me, and I’ll be safe home at night.”

Her mother’s face softens, and she pulls Darla into a hug.

“Oh, sweetie, I should be telling you it will be okay,” she sighs softly, rocking them some. “Your mama worries too much, the Folk wouldn’t go near the school… You’ll be safe.”

Darla squeezes her tighter.

“Your worry means you love me, I know,” she replies. “I don’t want you taken away either.”

Mama draws back, looking about to cry, when a honk sounds from the driveway and Darla turns to see Ms. Henry in her stinky car, waving her over with her kids in the back already.

“Have a good day, Darla,” her mother murmurs softly.

Darla turns back with a grin—

And then her eyes catch on a tall, lithe, pale figure, stood on the other side of their yard, past Mama’s shoulder.

The feeling of cold seems to fill the air around her, coming closer, and making her shiver from toe to tip, chilly as the air rushes from her lungs in great white puffs—

“Go on, sweetie,”

Her mother’s voice cuts into her shock, and Darla snaps her gaze back to her Mama, warm once more.

“Uh- yeah!” she manages, unable to bring herself to smooth out that line this time. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

As she runs to the car, waving to her Mama, she spares another glance back at the yard.

No one is there.

Still… she turns around her sweater once Billy helps strap her in. Just in case.

. . .

“Tweet tweet, little bird!!”

Darla beams up at the blue jay on the branch above her, and brightens even more when it responds to her with a series of notes.

“Yeah!!”

She’s glad it’s nice out today- after a long day at kin-dig-garden, watching the little birdies is the perfect break! She can chase them all around the backyard patch of forest and use all the energy her mother says builds up at school!

Mama went to get the ice-cream out too, so Darla is extra excited. Maybe she should go inside now to see what’s taking so long…

Darla turns from where she had been following Mister Blue Jay, and freezes.

… Where is the path she walked here on?

She walks to where she thinks she saw it last, and when she can’t find it, begins running through the woods in a panic, knowing she needs to find it before dark. Without Mama around to protect her, the threat of one of the Fair Folk taking her feels even more real.

“Mama!!” she blurts, terrified of drawing attention but desperate for her mother’s response. “Mama, where are you?!!”

There is no sound but her panting and footfalls as she picks up speed.

“Mama, I don’t wanna be taken by the People, please come find me,” she begs, almost ready to cry, and then she stumbles and falls with a _thud_ to her knees, and the tears start welling up.

“Mam- Mama,” she whispers around the lump in her throat.

And then.

A feeling like a cold breeze rushes over her shoulder, and suddenly, there is an arrow on the ground, made of shimmering white frost.

She hiccups her tears back and stares at it, terrified of what it means- only for another one to appear before it, pointing further into the brush.

“Is this- is this the way home?” she asks, voice faint in the dying light of the day.

In response, a third arrow appears. Darla shivers.

“Please, take me home.”

And she begins following the arrows, shining as the night falls. Every time she reaches the end, three more appear, and it continues that way until she’s bursting out of the treeline and running into her frantic mother’s arms.

“Oh, sweetie, where have you been--?”

“I followed the bird and got lost, I’m so sorry, Mama,” Darla sobs, holding her mother tightly. “But I’m home now, it’s still Monday, right?”

“It is, dear- oh, please don’t ever scare me like that again,” her mother says breathlessly. “Birdwatch with me from now on, okay sweetie?”

“Yes, Mama,” Darla promises, and her mother shuffles her inside, hardly able to let go of her for the bath.

After dinner that night, she comes back out to the porch, having told her mother she was going to get a book.

The tall faery, the one from her dreams and from her first day of kid-dig-garter, is standing at the edge of the forest, watching her.

“Was it you who helped me get home?” Darla asks, her voice small in the stillness of the night.

The faery inclines his head, and she relaxes, just a little bit, and grins some.

“I ‘preciate it, Mister.”

She knows she’s not supposed to say thank you to the Fair Folk, lest they try to have her in debt like Mama says, but not saying it feels wrong. She hopes this is close enough to both to be okay.

In return, the faery gives her a slow smile, and she shivers some at how big and scary his teeth are, like a _shark’s_.

“Goodnight, Sweet One,” he rumbles, and then he steps into the trees and is lost to the shadows.

She manages not to scream at all until she’s in the house, and even then it’s only a little, so she counts it as a win. He didn’t hurt her but she’s not so sure he won’t with teeth like that!!

Hopefully he keeps them to himself. If he doesn’t, she’ll bite back.

. . .

“Mamaaaaaaa,” Darla whines. “I wanna go outside nooowww!”

Her mother laughs softly and slides another sock around the two already on her foot. “Sweetie, people can freeze out there. We are almost done, see? I have your overcoat right here to put on after your boots, can you do that for me?”

Darla blows a raspberry and bends over awkwardly, the four sweaters scrunching around her waist and making her tummy grump as she pulls her boots on. She can’t move easy like this! But her mother wants her to get bunn’led up or else she can’t play in the snow.

She stands up and bonks her head into Mama’s shoulder after standing. “I’m too hot in all of these.”

“Good, you’ll be safe from the chill,” her mother says approvingly, and gently helps Darla into her coat. “There you are. Now you can go out and play, sweetie, just watch for ice, alright?”

“Alright!!” Darla exclaims, discom-fort fading with the excitement filling her. Finally!!

She rushes to the door and cracks it open, slipping through, and shuts it tight behind her before running out into the snow. It’s still falling in great white drifts, and she finds a big pile to mold herself a seat in. It’s the crunchy kind that can be shaped easy, so it’s perfect!

Bit by bit, she makes herself the chair, and once she finishes crunching it down she takes a seat in it, pushing her hat off to cool down and closing her eyes. Mama _really_ bundled her too much…

When she opens them again, the faery is there.

Darla squeaks and tries to stand, but the thick layers of clothes make the standing fall back down quick. She stares up at the faery, who has tilted his head, and tries to look as non-ed-ibible as possible. What can she do?? In stories, characters always seem to know how to escape, but he’s coming closer now, long hands reaching out to her from puffy purple sleeves--

“Hey!” she blurts. “Where are your coats??”

The faery halts, blinking, and stands upright slowly. “... What?”

His voice is very soft and rumbly, nothing like the evil cackle she thought it would be. Darla swallows.

“Um, you’re out here, in the cold, and- and you don’t have any coat on! How’re you not cold? Does your momma leave you alone about bund-ling?”

The faery tilts his head, and Darla hopes he isn’t mad.

“My mother… Ah, I see the confusion. No, Sweet One, I am a Winter fae, so the cold does not bother me.”

Darla blinks. “... Winter fae?”

“Yes,” the faery says patiently, pulling his arms in to rub his claws together. “You know how most animals go to sleep during the wintertime, but there are some that grow fur to stand the cold?”

“Um, I think so,” Darla replies, trying to stand up again so she can run. The faery nods.

“I am like those animals, but I stay that way all year, so the cold doesn’t bother me at all. The heat, however, is a different story.”

He looks down as Darla falls down into the snow again and kicks her feet out, frustrated... But she’s gotta keep talking so he doesn’t get her.

“I’m real hot right now, Mama gives me too many sweaters so I can’t move right when it’s snowing. It’s not fun.”

The faery bobs his head and takes a step closer. “I can see that. Sweet One, do you need a hand?”

Darla looks up at him, chest very tight and eyes wide with fear. “No thank you! I don’t want help and I definitely don’t want anyone’s hand!!”

To her surprise, he looks like someone just told him a joke rather than yelled in his face.

“Alright then,” he rumbles. “I guess I will just let you lay there. Would you like me to leave?”

“Uh- yes please?” Darla says, and the faery nods and steps towards the tree line.

“Enjoy the snow, Sweet One. I hope the coats are not too cumbersome.”

As soon as he’s gone, Darla rolls onto her front, struggles up, and runs into the house, locking the door behind her. She shucks off her coat like corn leaves.

“Mama? Mama, are there really Winter Folk? I think I saw one, um, in the woods!”

“WHAT?!” Her mother shouts from the living room, and Darla hears her running to her side. “Did they say anything to you?”

Darla looks up from taking her boots off as Mama comes in, all frantic-like. “Um… No, just were playing in the snow without a coat or anything. I know you said that one pixie that looked at our yard was a Spring, so was this one a Winter?”

Her mother relaxes visibly, placing a hand to her heart and leaning against the wall.

“Most likely… Thank heavens they didn’t notice you, child, for the Winters are the cruelest Fair Ones of them all.”

Darla’s eyes widen, and her mother goes on. “Their hearts are made of ice, cold and hard, and they don’t care for a thing but themselves and making everything as cold as they are.”

“That’s horrible!” Darla gasps, and her mother nods.

“I think you ought to stay inside until someone else can go with you, alright? I will ask Millie and Billy’s mother if they can come over.”

Darla nods, but her mind is still on the faery man. He didn’t seem cruel at the time, but if Mama says they are, she has to be away from him. No more playing in the edge of the forest, or looking for mudcake ingredients there, and _definitely_ no more playing in the snow.

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll get bored and not come near anymore.

. . .

Darla bursts into the house, scrambling to drop her bag and books in the foyer before rushing to find her mother, feet slapping a sharp rhythm on the hard floor. Her breath comes in aching gasps, each one more painful than the last as she tries to hold back her tears.

“Mama,” she sobs, finally seeing her mother’s form in the rocking chair. Darla flies across the hardwood and flings herself against her mother’s lap, burying her face in her skirts.

“Oh, Mama, my new classmates are terrible,” she nearly wails, hands fisting as she cries into the folds of her mother’s robes. “I never want to go back to school again, not if all the rest of the year is gonna be- gonna be like tha—“

Her voice cuts off into a keen, and her mother’s hand, cool and gentle, begins stroking through her hair as she weeps. The rest of the explanation tumbles out of her, as if pulled like a fish on a line.

“First grade had be-been so good, but then the- then the new kids came in, today, and Ms. Fischer said they were nice but they weren’t nice and they called me a freak and rippeded up my story because I was writing- writing about the Fair Folk, and they said only changelings write about faeries, and- and--!”

“Hush, dear,” her mother says quietly. “Let the tears flee.”

Darla’s breath hitches, and she shudders as she cries, until the tears are all gone and her face is puffy and hot and itchy against her mother’s robes. She doesn’t wipe her snot on them, instead pulling out her kerchief, so Mama doesn’t have to worry about the wash more, and she blows her nose on it.

“I don’t wanna go back there,” she murmurs, voice cracking. “Not when they’re gonna- gonna make more fun…”

“You do not have to go back.”

Darla stiffens.

Now that she is no longer sobbing, and the achey feeling has dampened her tears… She doesn’t think that sounds much like her Mama’s voice at all.

Slowly, she looks up.

“… Oh,” she says quietly, and the faery from her dreams and moments alone, clad in her mother’s robes, blinks at her.

“Is something else the matter, dear?” he asks, voice low and soft, and Darla flinches.

“What did you do- what did you do with my Mama?” she asks, trembling, and the faery frowns.

“Nothing,” he replies. “She is asleep on her bed, safe and sound.”

Darla knows the Folk cannot lie, like her mother has told her, but it doesn’t make her feel any less like running down the hall to make sure the man is telling the truth.

“… Why are you here?”

The faery tilts his head, cold hand still running through her hair gently, and pats his lap as an invitation for her to sit there.

“I felt your distress,” he says gently, not seeming to mind that Darla doesn’t move one bit. “I do not like it when children are saddened, especially not when they are living amongst my woods. I couldn’t bear the thought of not helping you.”

Darla shivers.

“Is that- is that why you helped me that time, when I went too far into the woods and got lost?”

The faery nods in a bobbing fashion, removing his hand from her hair in order to press his hands together and pull them back apart to reveal a spiderweb that shows a shimmering image of herself, running around fearfully on the forest floor.

“How could I leave a youngling despairing?” he asks, gentle. “I never want you to have to worry about such troubles as being lost or hurt… Unfortunately, this human world is full of cruel people, who seek to destroy whatever beauty they can find roughly as tearing down a forest, who long to rip apart one’s passionate will to create, and replace it with someone who simply follows lead, and serves their purpose.”

Darla shudders at the descriptions and shakes her head.

“Most humans love beautiful things,” she objects, poking a hand through the vision and making the web evaporate. “And Mama always tells me I can create anything.”

“Can,” the faery says, turning the word over like a smooth stone in his palms. “But even she has dissuaded you from pursuing certain topics, yes?”

Darla shakes her head, but even as she does, she remembers all the times her mother has told her that writing about the Folk could cause issues…

“She only tells me to be careful so I don’t get hurt,” she protests, but she finds herself less sure than she was before. The faery hums.

“I am sure she has what she thinks is best for you in mind,” he says. “But that does not mean she wants you to pursue all your passions. Even the kindest of humans can be cruel to a child, unknowingly.”

Darla doesn’t have a response, but she knows faeries are tricky. They can’t lie, but that doesn’t mean what he’s saying is right either.

And she’s sure he can’t be all right here.

“Well- Mama has nothing to do with the other kids being mean,” she manages, and the faery nods.

“That is true. But don’t worry, dear,” he murmurs softly, carding his fingers through her hair once more.

“They shall never cause harm to you again.”

And then?

He’s gone, and Darla is left alone in the living room, blinking at the still-rocking rocking chair.

After processing that she can leave, she leaps to her feet so quickly it feels almost as if she will fall down, but then she’s taken off to the bedroom, slamming the door open and dashing to the bed.

Her mother, awoken by the noise, sits up swiftly and looks to the door.

“Darling?? What’s wrong?”

Darla leaps onto the bed and hugs her tight, shaking her head.

“I just—“

She cannot tell her mother about the Folk visitor- her mother would worry so much she might get hurt, like the medical books Darla has say can happen.

“Just fell asleep on the way here, Mama, and I had a bad dream.”

Her mother’s arms close around her, gentle and warm, and Darla sinks into them.

She burrows her head into her mother’s shoulder, and tries to forget all about the faery man.

. . .

_Giggling._

_Giggling is coming from deep inside the forest, and Darla follows it. The forest blurs past her as she follows, swifter with each step. Eventually, she sees a point of light ahead, shining in the shadow of the trees, and she picks up speed, reaching for the entrance as she falls into a dash…_

_It feels as if it takes an eternity to reach it._

_Finally, she bursts through into the clearing. The giggling abruptly stops- only to be replaced with a sweet greeting from two children paused before her, and then they go back to playing, giggling all the more._

_She looks around the clearing._

_Trees surround a dip in the earth, their shadows cast down across beds of moss at their roots, and further, covering the many children of all shapes and ages, faces indistinct, playing amongst the foliage. Some are chasing each other, and others are playing hand games. Still others are swordfighting or acting with dolls…_

_And all of them look wonderfully happy. So joyful, it makes her yearn to join them, and live amongst the trees forever._

_At the other end of the clearing, there sits a faery man, tall and pale, with ears pointed as knives and teeth like icicles- but he doesn’t feel like a threat. He simply sits and watches the children having fun, a small smile on his face as he flips a coin in his hand._

_She steps forward, and he looks up._

_It’s as if she’s pinned to the spot, unable to look away from his violet eyes, gleaming like frost in the dim light, shadows writhing around them—_

Darla shoots up in her bed. Her breath comes in ragged pants, and her legs ache as if she has been running around all night rather than sleeping in her bed.

Just as it has been, every quarter moon ever since she and Mama went berry picking.

She slips out of bed, using the morning light shining from behind the curtains to watch her movements, careful not to wake her mother by going too swiftly, and steps out into the hallway. She slips the door shut and hurries to the kitchen for a glass of water.

She’s in first grade now- it’s over a whole year since that happened! But still, the dream comes, the same one every single time. She runs through the forest, she sees the kids, and then… the faery man sees her.

Darla shakes her head as she reaches the kitchen and pulls a cup down to fill with water from the sink. It almost feels like one of her storybooks, where the adventure-rer is called by someone big and wise for a quest. But she’s not sure she wants to take a quest, not when it comes from one of the Fair Folk. Mama had always warned her against attracting the attention of any of them, but it still happened anyway.

At least he seemed to want to be nice to her?

He had led her home, and when she went back to school after he took her mother’s place, the kids who had ripped up her story left her alone. (Even if they were twitchy and smelled weird, like skunk.) He helped her, somehow, after comforting her. Plus, every time she had seen him just ‘round, he had never even come close.

She thinks that’s good. It means he prolly won’t kidnap her.

She _thinks…_

Darla finishes her cup of water and puts it back up before tiptoeing to the living room and pulling out her paper pad to draw, biting her lip as she works on a dragon. Maybe he just knows she likes art, and wants a picture? Mama told her faeries love art, so maybe that’s it. She can draw him a picture and all of this will go away!

(She makes a picture of him juggling coins, and that evening a-noun-says to the forest that it’s for him before laying it out on her porch and going back inside.

The next day, there is a weird, smooth, white stone carving in its place, and once she picks it up, she realizes it’s a picture of her with wings!!

She stows it in her pocket before Mama can see it, not wanting her to worry.)

(The dreams don’t stop, but… Darla isn’t too upset she got it wrong this time.)

. . .

Darla wriggles excitedly on the front porch, waving at her friends as they head out to walk home with their parents.

“Bye, Millie and Bill! Bye, Alice, bye Jade!”

“Bye, Darla!” Alice calls back from her Papa’s arms, grinning. “Have fun with your presents!”

“Thank you all for coming,” Mama calls, her hands resting gently on Darla’s shoulders, and they receive a chorus of goodbyes from the parents before they are headed down different roads.

Darla spins and grins up at her mother.

“Can we play the card game now, pretty please?? Or with the dolls from Jade?”

Mama laughs softly and kisses Darla’s forehead, guiding her into the house. “Well, of course, dear. It’s your birthday, my gardening can wait as long as need be.”

“Then can we go berrypicking today?” Darla asks excitedly – Mama had told her her present was going to be her favorite raspberry tart - but her mother shakes her head slightly.

“Unfortunately, child, while I am prepared to go to where the bushes are, it’s the night before the full moon… I’m worried the Hunt may be afoot, eager for tomorrow’s festivities. We can go tomorrow when they will all be at the Revel.”

Darla pouts, but she knows that her mother is right. She often hears the howls of the Fair Folk dogs piercing the night when the moon is round in the sky, and Mama has told her _plenty_ about the beastie’s sharp teeth!

“Games are fine, then!” Darla replies, tugging Mama to the carpet and pulling out the dolls, placing the cards from Millie and Billy, and the art of daisies from Alice, up on the loveseat to be safe. Then she holds her skirts from the birthday dress carefully and sits down across from her mother, pulling up the doll that looks like a princess.

“Her name is Penelope,” Darla says imperiously, and Mama chuckles. “She loves to drink tea, and she has a lotta people who wanna marry her, but she doesn’t want anything to do with it!”

“She plans to run the kingdom herself? Excellent,” Mama nods. “But there will surely be many who think she cannot do it, so she should have a bodyguard or an advisor so she’s protected.”

Mama picks up a blonde-haired person and makes them shake hands with the princess, and Darla thinks it over.

“They can be both! A bodyguard and a visor!”

“Advisor.”

“I said that.”

Her mother grins, but before she can reply, a knock comes from the door, and she looks up with a confused expression. “I wonder what that’s about- I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

She sets the doll down and kisses Darla’s head before standing and heading towards the door.

Darla hums a little ditty to herself, dancing the princess around the floor. “A tisket, a tasket, a brown and wicker basket—“

_Tap, tap, tap._

Darla looks up from the dolls and glances around the room.

_Tap, tap._

There’s someone at the door to the back, she realizes. Who could it be?

Since her mother is at the front door, Darla sets the princess down and goes to answer the back door herself. Mama says not to answer the front door when home alone, but this is the back door and Mama is home even if not with her, so Darla thinks it’s okay!

She pushes the door open slightly and peers up.

The faery man is looking down at her. She lets out a squeak.

“Hello, Sweet One,” he says gently, squatting to be eye level with her. “Happy birthday.”

“How do you know it’s my birthday?” Darla asks accusingly, and his ears twitch with amusement.

“You mentioned it was coming up, and I saw your friends leaving. I am sorry I missed the event, but something tells me they wouldn’t have taken too kindly to my presence.”

Darla squints at him in concentration and he holds up his hands carefully. “I mean only good by my coming here, Sweet One… I made you a gift.”

Darla nearly shuts the door from the jolt the words send through her body.

“Mama says it’s dangerous to accept gifts from, um, the Fair Folk, because it could be a trade for something more serious… I don’t wanna hurt your feelings but I don’t have anything to trade right now, not like the time with the picture.”

The faery man looks amused and shakes his head, settling.

“I promise,” he says gently, and a ripple seems to move through the air into Darla’s tummy. “This present is not part of any trade, and it is not me attempting to buy your friendship. I simply want you to have it, because I think you’re a lovely little girl, and I wish to celebrate the day of your birth.”

He slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a silvery bracelet that looks like it’s his silk, that has a tiny charm on it with a weird shield design, and Darla’s eyes widen.

“… It’s very pretty,” she says, and looks up at the faery. “I believe you.”

She holds out her hand, and he slips it onto her wrist, and she shivers some. It’s a little cold, but she guesses that makes sense- he said he was a Winter, one time during their brief con-ver-stations when she asked why he didn’t mind the snow.

“It will look like a normal bracelet to other mortals,” he rumbles. “But if other fae see it, they will know to leave you alone.”

“Ohhh…” Darla breathes. “Thank you, mister.”

The faery gives her that too-wide, too-sharp grin, but this time, to her, it doesn’t feel half as creepy.

“You’re welcome, Sweet One. Happy birthday.”

She actually sees what happens this time- it’s like the shadows reach up to grab his legs, and then the faery man turns into a shadow too, and he’s gone!

Darla grins to herself and closes the door carefully, skipping back to the rug to keep playing with the dolls to wait for Mama to get back. After another moment, she does!

“Hi Mama!” Darla says cheerfully, but her mother doesn’t respond, and Darla looks up with a frown.

Her mother is swaying some, heading to the back door, her spade in hand.

“Mama??” Darla asks, voice laced with confusion. “Mama, we’re playing with dolls- Mama!!”

It’s as if her mother isn’t hearing her, and Darla gets to her feet, stumbling after her mother and throwing her arms around Mama’s legs. She doesn’t stop. “Mama, please, what’s wrong? Did I do something bad?? Please don’t leave, it’s my birthday, we were gonna play, Mama--!”

She starts crying, and suddenly, her mother stops in her tracks, dropping the spade on the floor.

“Darla??” she asks, voice trembling, and Darla sobs harder, clinging to her legs. Her mother’s arms fly to lift her, shaking slightly as she holds Darla close.

“I don’t know what came over me, sweetie,” she says faintly, cradling Darla as she goes to the living room. “I was talking with our neighbor, and- and she said that I should probably get back to my gardening, when she said goodbye, and it was all I could think about- oh, _Darla_ , I’m so so sorry!!”

Darla sniffles and hugs around Mama’s neck tightly. “It was so scary,” she whispers. “You wouldn’t listen, or talk back at _all.”_

“It won’t happen again,” her mother promises, and Darla realizes that she’s crying, too.

“I promise.”

. . .

“Basket, daisies, horseshoe, blanket…”

Darla’s mother is rummaging through her supplies in the doorway, muttering under her breath, as Darla paces impatiently in the back yard.

“Mama, we’ll be fine, we were last time!” she insists, and her mother shakes her head at her.

“After what happened yesterday, child, we cannot be too safe. Have you seen my iron comb?”

“It’s on your head,” Darla giggles, and Mama reaches up and feels for it in her hair. She lets out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, then… I have everything. We can go.”

“Yay!!” Darla cheers, and rushes into the undergrowth, unafraid. The faery man gave her his charm yesterday, so why should she worry?

“Sweetie, wait!” her mother exclaims, and Darla pouts but stops on the path. Her mother quickly catches up.

“What has gotten into you, dearest? Usually you’re so worried about the dirt and Folk that you walk with me,” Mama sighs, taking Darla’s hand, and Darla hums.

“I’m just excited for the tart, Mama.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. The faeries would be proud, she thinks excitedly, and then a sharp prick of fear bursts the excitement like a balloon inside of her. The faeries can’t be proud!! They might take her!

Shivering, she presses close to her mother’s side as they walk. Maybe Mama is right. Something has gotten into her.

She glances at the bracelet on her wrist.

 _Onto_ her. Right, the faery man is protecting her. She’s _fine!_ Even the proudest of the Fair Folk can’t touch her now, so she shouldn’t worry. Even with the horseshoe in the basket instead of on her like normal. Humming once more, she breaks away from her mother, trotting the rest of the way to the berry clearing ahead of her.

“Alright, sweetie,” her mother sighs softly, setting the basket down beneath the swing as they enter the clearing. “Come now, let’s get picking, we don’t want to be caught here at night like we nearly were last time.”

She kneels before the plants and begins plucking berries off the thorny branches, and Darla tears into the cluster of bushes along a cleared path with an excited giggle. Just like always!

Except _this_ time, instead of her mother calling after her, she hears someone singing, slow and soft.

Perking up, Darla pushes through the last of the berry bushes, and through a few trees, and finds herself in another, smaller clearing, darker than the last one. It’s so dark, she needs to close her eyes real tight to add-just.

When she opens them again, she sees the faery man there, leaning against a tree, glowing like the moon in the dark and singing the song she had heard.

_“Follow sweet children, I’ll show thee the way, through all the pain and the sorrows…”_

Darla’s eyes widen, and she steps backwards, not wanting to disturb him, only for her foot to meet one of the broken-off berry branches with a sharp _crack._ The faery man startles straight, and then relaxes again upon seeing her.

“Hello, Sweet One,” he says gently, offering her his hand, long nails from long fingers looking sharp enough to shred skin. “I sensed someone coming. Should have known it was you.”

“Um,” Darla says quietly, eyeing his outstretched palm. “I’m berrypicking with Mama. I can’t go anywhere.”

“I don’t mean to take you away, Sweet Child,” the faery man replies, lips turning up at the corners. Darla wonders if her charm will stop him from tricking her, even though he gave it to her. “I simply wish to dance, and it’s always better to have a partner. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Darla shifts, fiddling her skirts in her hands carefully.

“Mama says that dancing with a Fair Folk will get you in danger,” she mumbles. “You’re very nice, but I know you gotta be strong, if the other Fair Folk will listen to you. And- and strong is dangerous, and I gotta be near my Mama.”

The faery man looks at her patiently, hand still outstretched.

“Sweet One, I will not take you away from your mother now,” he says plainly. “You do not have to dance if you do not want to… I just know you like to be twirled, and thought I would offer.”

Darla frowns. “If you wanna dance, why aren’t you at the Revel??”

The faery man looks surprised for a moment, and then starts forward with a chuckle, causing Darla to stumble away with a whimper. He stops at the noise, cocking his head, and then sinks to his knees like he’s talking to a scared cat.

“You are a clever one, that’s for sure, as well as sweet,” he remarks, teeth bared in his sharp grin. “Alright, I’m going to tell you a secret.”

Against her butter judgement, Darla leans in.

“I get nervous around big crowds and parties,” the faery whispers to her, breath hitting her skin colder than ice. “So I wandered away, but just because I dislike Revels does not mean I cannot like dancing at all, right?”

“Well- right!” Darla admits, wiggling back and forth on her feet. “I usually like parties but, um, one of my friends doesn’t like all the noise so sometimes I stay with her so she feels better.”

“That sounds really nice,” the faery sighs softly, claws clicking together as he drops his hand some. “I’d like to have someone like that…”

Darla swallows, and then slowly reaches her hand out to press it on the back of his.

“… I can? If you want? As long as you’re not gonna take me away from Mama.”

The faery man gazes at her, eyes widened, and nods gratefully. “Thank you, Sweet One. It means a lot to me.”

She smiles shakily, and he slowly stands until he is head and shoulders above her once more, stooping down so she doesn’t have to stretch her arms up.

“Ready?” he rumbles softly, and she takes a deep breath.

“You won’t take me?”

“I will keep you here in this clearing for the moment,” he promises, and Darla nods once.

“Okay.”

He guides her into the first turn—

_Cold._

_So cold, like the winter wind bursting into your house after the door wasn’t shut the whole way, ruining all the fire’s hard work and causing your teeth to chatter and her skin to freeze, that fills you from the outside in as if all you’ve ever known is the cold—_

Another turn, and slowly, she adjusts.

It almost feels as if snow is falling on her, tickling onto her arms and hair and face, and she giggles at the sen-say-tion.

“This is fun!” she chirps at the faery, and he chuckles.

“Just you wait til the fancy stuff starts,” he winks, and swings her up. Darla gasps, and then shrieks in her excitement and the faery smiles just as brightly at her joy.

_“Come little children, I’ll take thee away,”_

He sets her back down and leads her in a few more rounds, singing all the while.

_“Into a land of enchantment…”_

Here he spins her, and Darla giggles, all the way til she finds her feet again. It’s like playing in the snow, crunching on icicles, sledding down the hills in the dead of winter- and she can’t think of a happier time.

 _“Come little children, the time’s come to play,”_ the faery sings gently, leading her back to the steps. _“Here in my garden of shadows…”_

He holds the note as he dips Darla, trailing off as she comes back up, and then gently releases her hands. The warmth doesn’t rush back in this time, but rather creeps back slowly, out from her heart to her fingers as she stares at him in awe.

“Is your dancing always like that?” she whispers, and he chuckles softly.

“I’ve been told it’s a cold feeling,” he hums, patting her head. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes!!”

“That’s good,” he replies, voice like a downy layer of snow all over. “I want you to have fun, Sweet One, to be happy all your days.”

Darla squeals. “I want you to be happy too, mister!”

He chuckles again. “I am happiest when I am around those I love… like you.”

Darla stares, mouth hanging open, and he closes it with a finger.

“And I always have a place for you here, if you need it,” he assures her, not seeming to sense her nerve-ousness. “If anything ever goes wrong, or if you just want to sleep over. Alright?”

“Uh- okay,” she manages, and he nods.

“Good… Now, let’s take you home, yes?”

“What do you mean?” Darla asks. “Mama’s over there, picking berries, I have to go to her.”

“Your mother has gone home,” the faery man corrects, and Darla shakes her head.

“No she isn’t! She never leaves without me, and ‘sides, it’s not been long enough she would get help!”

“We’ve been dancing for a good few hours,” he explains, taking her hand once more. “I would think that, since she didn’t find us, she went home to get help.”

Darla comes to a halt.

“You said you wouldn’t take me,” she says, voice shaky, and the faery man looks distressed.

“I didn’t! I kept you right here and danced with you. She might have overlooked us since the clearing is so dark—“

“Take me home,” Darla whimpers, voice choked. “I don’t wanna- I want my Mama, you tricked me.”

“I see I should not have done this,” he replies, and when Darla refuses to respond he begins leading her to her house.

When they arrive at the forest line, there is no sign anyone has been looking for her at all.

“Why would she just- why would she go?” Darla sobs, lip trembling. “She’s always so careful, something’s wrong!!”

“Sweet One, perhaps she just—“

Darla tears her hand out of his grasp and rushes forwards, banging her fists on the door, glancing back and feeling a rush of relieved tears to see him disappearing once more. She turns to the door and shouts at the top of her lungs.

“MAMA!! MAMA, LET ME IN!!”

Hardly a moment passes before the door is flung open and her mother is staring at her with wide eyes.

“Darla! How did you get out here- I told you to watch the pastry as I used the restroom, and when I came back I saw you trekked twigs and mud into the house—“

Darla breaks down into tears, and her mother flinches.

“I was lost in the forest, Mama!!” she wails. “A faery person got me- got me all lost, and then when I went to the berry place you were g-gone, and I was so sca- _aaaaaaaaa!!”_

The force of her wails makes her lungs ache, and her mother drops to her knees before her.

“Then- _oh, my child, I thought I had you_ \- it must have been a stock! Oh, no, what if one of the Folk _has_ taken a shine to you??”

Darla’s wails only worsen, and her mother wrings her hands. “Sweetie, I am so sorry, I would never, ever have left you if I had known. It seems as if someone has it out for us- from now on, we never leave each other’s sight, and- and—“

She opens her arms up, and Darla flings herself into them, hugging her tightly as Mama hugs her.

“I don’t want to be overbearing, but- I cannot let this happen again, someone is surely trying to tear us apart,” she manages. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice before that you- the stock that was you- never said a word!”

She scoops Darla up and takes her inside, locking the door behind them.

“I think I will have to homeschool you- or fae-proof the house and make sure all your outfits have inside-out parts, that works,” her mother mutters. “We will stay safe and away from such beings that would take you.”

Darla, still sobbing into her Mama’s shoulder, nods frantically.

_No more of the faery man. No more of the cold, no matter how fun._

Darla doesn’t _ever_ wanna lose her mother.

. . . (Three weeks later) . . .

“Mama…”

Darla looks hopelessly at her mother, who’s hunched over her work in the garden, sweat dripping down her face. Unlistening.

… She hasn’t been listening a lot, lately. It seemed as though, once she knew Darla was safe from the faeries, she had been so relieved she didn’t worry at all now! She never asked how her day was, or checked her over at the door. And when Darla asked if she was fae-magicked, her mother had laughed! Laughed, like a bully would!

First her stories had gone away, and then the snacks, and then, it seemed like after dinner was done, all Mama had time for was her gardening. Working in their yard all day, bent over her work until she fell asleep only to come inside after a nap and drink water straight from the faw-set like she had told Darla not to do. She had never worked this long before, not even on weekends.

Darla thought it was faery magic at first, but faery magic on her mother always seemed to break when she cried.

And she had cried so much her head hurt nearly all the time, now, and Mama still worked.

“Mama,” Darla tries again. Her mother grunts and uproots another weed.

“I- um, I made a picture for you,” Darla manages past the lump in her throat. “It’s- it’s us, playing in the garden, but with my dolls? I put your stuff and my stuff in it, so- s-so- we both could like it, and I made it special just for you.”

She just barely holds back a sob when her mother simply stabs her baby shovel into the ground, this time to get a rock out. Darla swallows.

“Mama, don’t you like it? I—“

“I would like you to be _quiet,”_ her mother snaps, and Darla flinches. “My word, you never stop talking, child, can’t you see I’m doing important work here? To grow food for us, to make us money? If you want to eat come winter you _ought_ _to let me work.”_

Darla’s lower lip wobbles, and her fingers shake so hard the picture she had spent so much time on crumples in her hands like tissue paper, wrinkled and worn.

“Mama, why are you being so _mean?”_ she sobs, the first tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, and her mother sits up and rips the paper from her hands.

“I am doing all of this so you can survive, Darla!!” she shouts, and Darla’s whole body shakes at the sound, like she’s trying to crawl into herself to hide. “I have no time for your worthless drawings, now get inside and bathe so you’re ready for bed!!”

_Worthless drawings._

A few moments pass where everything is muffled, her sight and her skin, and then Darla finds herself halfway down the hall in the house, shaking on the floor and wailing, like a banshee for the dead. Her lungs ache with each cry, and she can’t get in the air to breathe- _it hurts, it hurts, Mama- it hurts!!_

“WHY?!” she sobs, the only word that she can think now, the only word she feels through the pounding in her head and the trembling of her body and the aching of her chest. “WHY? WHY?!!”

Her head throbs, and her hands jerk up to it, throwing her onto her side and jarring the rest of the breath from her lungs. She screams so hard it feels like the walls are caving in, crashing around her, and _it’s so loud, so loud_ —

She can’t breathe, she can’t move, she can’t think, and the world is spinning, and the shadows are getting darker, and she can’t breathe—

And then everything is a blessed silence.

…

Darla is on her bed, above the blankets, staring at the ceiling. Her face is puffy, and hot, and every time she moves her head begins to hurt again, like a hammer is hitting it, over and over.

She’s breathing.

And all around her, it feels like nothing.

Her Mama thinks she’s worthless. Darla’s read stories about animals that people thought were worthless. They always turn out loved and happy in the end, and the people want them around.

But her Mama doesn’t want her around.

Her mother doesn’t want her.

The thought makes the nothing-ness heavier.

_Tap, tap, tap._

The rain is hitting the drain outside with a tap, tap, tap, and Darla moves her hands to cover her ears. She doesn’t have a person to make her not-worthless, like the animals do in books. Her mother isn’t gonna, and her friends are her age and can’t—

_Tap, tap._

Darla sobs, pressing her hands harder over her ears, and something tickles her head so she jerks them away. She looks up at them, hands shaky.

The gift from the faery-man. The charm tickled her head.

_“And I always have a place for you here, if you need it. If anything ever goes wrong…”_

She stares at the charm on her wrist and takes a big, shaking breath.

This is definitely, positively, the _most wrong_ Darla has ever known her _whole life._

She sits up shakily and it’s like all the hurt in her head is gone as she unbuttons her backwards sweater with trembling fingers and moves to pull it off- and then pauses.

Mama was terrified of Darla being taken by the Fair Folk—

 _Mama doesn’t want me now,_ she thinks grimly _. And it’s not taking if I’m_ **_leaving_ ** _._

And she turns her sweater back again, grabs her flashlight and dolls from the nightstand, tucking the dolls into her pockets, and slips out the bedroom door. With quiet feet she pads to the back one, still open from the running-in she can’t remember, and she looks outside only to see her mother face-first in the cabbages, asleep. Her drawing is stuck under Mama’s knee.

Darla sticks out her jaw to stop her lips from wobbling and steps out into the yard, moving as fast as she can towards the shadowy woods while still being quiet. Once she reaches the trees, she doesn’t look back.

She takes off down the berry path, flashlight lighting her way as she runs over the grassy ground. Her breath comes in deep pants, and her lungs don’t seem to ache anymore. Her hands don’t tremble, her throat isn’t raw, and she doesn’t even hesitate once she reaches the swing clearing to plunge into the bushy path and get to where she danced with—

 _The faery man._ He sits in the shadows, stringing a spiderweb between two trees, humming to himself.

Darla comes to a stop, her flashlight casting long, lean shadows onto his web, and making the uncovered parts shiny, like frost…

“Sweet One?” he asks, turning around. His eyes are filled with concern, and he drops into a crouch to speak to her. “Why are you out here so late at night? Where is your mother?”

And Darla finds she still has a few more tears to go.

She rushes forward, throws her arms around his neck, and blubbers out the whole story to him- how her Mama had wanted to protect her after the stock, how she had pulled back slowly, how she had _yelled at her, Mama never yells she only listens and asks quiet questions but she had turned horrible and wrong and doesn’t want her--!!_

He holds her through it all, murmuring assurances and rocking her gently, and by the time she is done and pulled back so she can blow her nose into the hankie he gives her, she sees he has tears on his face, too.

“I am so sorry that that happened to you,” he whispers, voice moon-ful, rocking her some more. “Your mother seemed so nice when I saw her before…”

“She was,” Darla sniffles. “She’s changed- she always told me faeries would change like that, but it’s like only she’s the one doing it! She- she—“

“Has now turned to hurting you, Sweet One,” the faery man murmurs, head hanging low. “She seeks to destroy all you love, as humans do- I tried to warn you, but…”

Darla sniffles and hugs him tighter.

“You- you promise me you won’t change and be mean like that?”

“Why, Sweet One, no, never like that,” he says, voice shocked. “I will never hit you or seek to harm you- only to protect and care for you.”

She grips onto his shirtfront, voice barely a whisper.

“… Can I stay with you?” she whimpers, tears sliding down her cheeks once more and dripping off of her chin. “And your chil- children? Please?”

His arms relax around her some, and he meets her eyes, his bright purple shocking as in dreams.

But this time, she doesn’t wake up.

“Are you sure you wish to join them?” he asks softly. “There are other humans who will take you in- you shouldn’t feel as though I am your only option—“

“I wanna go with you, please!” she begs, sobs coming back. “They’ll just give me back to Mama, I can’t do that, I don’t wanna!!”

“Hey, shhh, shh, it’s alright,” he soothes, slowly standing again with her in his arms, making sure all her dolls are in place. “I will take you in. And know that you can ask me to go back at anytime, so long as the Hunt isn’t out- I will never force you to stay.”

“I’m gonna,” she manages, using the hankie to scrub at her face as she wails, the tears hot after the coolness of his clothes. “I’m gonna stay with you and your children, I don’t wanna go back.”

“Hush,” he says, softly. “You’re safe now. No need for more words or promises, alright?... It is late, Sweet One. You need to sleep.”

“I d-don’t wanna,” she whispers, jaw trembling. “I- I’m scared you’ll be gone and I’ll be there when I wake up!”

“No, no no no, Sweet One,” he replies in kind, breath cold against her cheek. “There are no lies here, not amongst the trees and shadows. I would not deceive you- you will never end up back there, as long as you do not wish to.”

He sighs, rocking her as he paces forward. “I am sorry it had to happen like this… but I see it must be so.”

She doesn’t respond, hand tightening in his shirtfront as she fights to hold back more tears.

“Soon we’ll be gone forever from that terrible, cruel world,” he assures. “The place we’re going to is calm, and not half as loud and harsh. The crickets will sing you to sleep each night, every day will be full of kindly laughter, and I will watch over you through it all.”

Darla sniffles. “That- that sounds nice- how much longer?”

He quickens his steps. “Not long. Would you mind sharing a bed with someone tonight? I can have one ready for tomorrow, but at the moment I wasn’t expecting—“

“It’s fine,” Darla whimpers, and the faery nods, turning around a tree- and then they are there, in the clearing from her dreams.

Most of the children are snuggled into beds made at the roots of the sir-rounding trees, with mossy pillows and blankets made of huge leaves. Some of the older ones, the ones that look like high-school kids, are still up and talking quietly to each other. They turn to face the faery once he steps into the moonlight. One of them claps their hands together at the sight of her in his arms, and they come over to whisper with him.

Darla doesn’t really listen, though. She’s too busy looking around the shaded glen, eyes wide.

She’s finally… here.

 _Safe,_ she thinks in the back of her head. _Home._

A new home- free of mothers who turn mean and angry and working, and full of new people to make friends with.

A soft, warm feeling flutters up in her stomach, like happiness and scariness rolled into one, but-

But it’s a good feeling, and slowly, she grins.

“Hey,” one of the big kids greets, and she turns to face him curiously.

“What do you wanna be called?” he asks, friendly-like. “You can call me Fish. These are Hawk-“ the shorter one with blue hair gives a bright grin- “And Do.” The second friend says hello.

“I like Sweet One, or Sweetie,” she says, glancing up at the faery, and the happy look he gives her makes her feel very good about her choice. “Are you- his children?”

“Some of them,” Hawk chuckles. “As you can see, the littleuns are asleep.”

“Look who’s talking about being little,” Fish teases, and Hawk swats at his arm playfully.

“Stop that!”

“Kids,” the faery says, amused, and the two stop and grin at him.

“Sorry, Vati,” Fish says, and he shakes his head.

“No need for apologies, Fish… but I am wondering if one of you would be willing to share a bed tonight, while Mother grows a new one?”

Do raises their hand.

“I can, Fish is sharing with Ruby, and Hawk is with Beanie, so it follows that I should be able to take her,” Do con-clues.

“Alright, then, go on and get ready, I need to talk to this Sweet One,” the faery man hums, and the trio nod and scurry to the beds on the other side of the clearing.

The faery sets Darla down gently, then crouching once more to face her with a soft sharp-toothed grin.

“You doing alright so far?”

“Mhmm,” Darla says, nodding and squeezing her dolls. “They seem nice!”

“Good,” he replies, and reaches out to pat her cheek with his chilly hand. “So, the main rules I have are to tell me before you go out, so I know you’re gone, to not take off that bracelet so you can wander safely, and to be kind to the other children, does that sound alright?”

“I can do all of those,” Darla says con-fin-dentally, and he chuckles.

“Excellent. And before I tuck you in for the night, I need to give you something I should have a long time ago, alright?”

Darla leans in, eager. “What is it??”

“You can know me as Vee, or Vati,” he says, and Darla’s eyes widen.

“Vee?”

“It’s part of my name,” he says gently. “All my children receive it, in case you do not wish to call me your father. And Sweet One- I am telling you now, never introduce yourself with your True Name here, alright? You must be careful, and even I do not need to know that. It is yours alone to keep.”

Darla nods, and gives him one last hug before pulling back.

“Thank you, Mr. Vee,” she says quietly, and he pats her head, leading her to the beds.

“You’re welcome, Sweet One,” he replies.

“Welcome home.”

. . . _A great many years ago_ . . .

Virgil breathes in harshly, eyes wide and ears flattened as he stares at the frostbit corpse of his brother lying before him on the shadowy forest ground.

_Adder had tried to kill him._

He lifts his wrist almost unconsciously, staring at his now-unblemished wrist where Adder’s teeth had been sunk only minutes before.

Adder had tried to kill him, and now Adder was dead.

He lands on the ground with a thump, grass and earth icing over under his hands and seat. His breathing is coming in pants that open too much and take in too little, and Adder is dead, his brother is dead as Winter itself, Virgil killed him because Adder had tried to kill _him_ —

_You did not want?_

Mother’s questioning breaks into the panic, and Virgil lets out a shaky laugh.

“Didn’t want-?!“ _Mother, he tried to kill me!! I loved him, but he hated me- I would never have done this if he hadn’t—_

His vision blurs, and the shadows creeping up his feet look more like Death itself.

 _Sorrow,_ she whispers, voice almost sad, but much more curious. _Not alone… Alone._

“I wanted him to be my brother,” Virgil chokes out, weeping, gripping his shoulders so tightly he’s sure he’ll bruise. “I wanted- I wanted him to be family so bad, and yet--!”

And yet, Adder tried to hurt others when Virgil asked him not to. And yet, Adder hated Virgil’s kindness towards the Seelie. And yet, Adder had pulled away, frosty as the snow, until he was something Virgil didn’t recognize.

And yet, he had tried to hurt Virgil, too.

 _He was cruel,_ Virgil thinks, unable to say it through his sobs.

 _Family,_ his mother muses, shadows rippling up to meet the tears that fall from Virgil’s eyes. _Blood- too much. Far away._

He gets the feeling that she doesn’t just mean his brother.

By the time Virgil’s tears have stopped, she seems to have come to a conclusion, beckoning him to his feet and rising and falling like river rapids. He sniffles, wiping the last of his tears away.

_Follow._

_Mother…?_ he asks, hesitating, and her shadows rise a little quicker.

 _Come,_ she thought, a thread of impatience in her tone. _And you will not be alone anymore._

He stifles another sob ( _Adder in the witch-hazel, bright with snappish curiosity- Adder on the ground, lifeless_ ), but stands anyway, taking step by painful step after Mother’s shadows.

When he reaches the edge of the clearing and glances back, Adder’s body is already gone.

Mother leads him through her forest, the shadows skipping over roots of trees and slithering through the undergrowth, flowing beside the stream for a bit and then back into the thick of the forest once more. Virgil steps after her, trying not to think of the ominousness of her language or the way Adder had crumpled when he—

 _Here,_ Mother tells him, slowing her pace and creeping to the bushes that line the edge of her forest. _Come, Virgil. Look._

Virgil follows with less hesitation this time, dropping to a crouch and looking at her shadows once he reaches the bushes. _What is it, Mother?_

 _Look over,_ she clarifies. _They are not cruel._

Virgil peers over the bush, and then looks back down at Mother in shock.

“Humans??”

For on the other side of the bush, two human children and a Pooka played together, tossing a ball from one to another and running around, shrieking with joy.

_Family is not blood alone,_ she replies, seemingly unconcerned with Virgil’s state of confusion and worry. _If blood is not good for you, you can claim one yourself._

She falls silent, and Virgil reaches to her gently, wiping the last of his tears away with the other hand. _Blood is good,_ he thinks, a bit nervous to address non-fae (who could have iron!), and her shadow ripples beneath his fingers.

 _Try choosing,_ she insists. _Talk. It will increase diplomacy._

 _So that’s how it is,_ he huffs, but she does not reply- it seems she is all talked out for the moment.

Virgil sighs and peers over the bushes again, frowning as the trio drop the ball and cower together in the center of the clearing, holding each other’s hands tightly. Had they seen him? Why did they look so scared?

And then a tall, broad, adult human enters the clearing, and the children cower further.

Virgil’s jaw clenches.

He’s seen the pixies when Adder was around. He knows what terror and hopelessness looks like.

“What the f*** are you doing, you slimy fools?!” the man spits, grabbing the ball in one meaty hand and bursting it with a terrible _POP!_ Virgil’s hands fly to his ears, and the kids whimper, holding each other tighter.

Afraid to cry out, or fight back.

The man growls. “I told you two to run out ‘ere and get your mother what she needed for stew, eh? But instead you’re playing with the fairies?? There goes _your_ dinner!”

One of the children whimpers, and the man’s hand raises—

_To hit them._

Virgil is moving before he has time to think it through, catching the hand in mid-fall where had he not he would certainly have struck the children over their heads. Frost swiftly coats the man’s wrist, and he gapes at Virgil.

“What in Heaven’s name—“

 **“HOW** **_DARE_ ** **YOU HARM YOUR CHILDREN,”** Virgil rumbles, and the whole forest shakes along with it. **“HOW** **_DARE_ ** **YOU SEEK TO HARM ONE OF MY PEOPLE.”**

The human’s face is fearful now, sweating, and as Virgil’s grip tightens around his wrist he lets out a cry of agony.

“I WASN’T GONNA!!”

 **“And now you LIE?!!”** Virgil roars, and shadows burst from the ground, trying to pull the man into it from the force of his rage. He leans in, taking great pleasure in seeing the man’s eyes frost over and roll back in his head, freezing from the inside out. The human chokes on the ice in his throat, trying to reach up to cling to Virgil desperately—

 _“Rot,”_ Virgil hisses, and lets him go.

The man is pulled under the earth in less than a moment, and then all is quiet.

Virgil realizes the human children are crying, and when he turns, the Pooka they had been playing with is shaking in fright.

“My- my lord—“

“Hush,” Virgil whispers, kneeling with his arms spread in a gesture of peace. “No need for titles, dear White Thing. Are you all alright?”

One of the children- a little girl, it seems- hiccups, scrubbing at her eyes and whimpering still.

“Da wouldn’t have ‘urt us too bad, he’s only terrible when he’s drunk, unlike Maw.”

“Any amount of harm is too much,” Virgil tells her, heart aching. “Real parents would never hurt you like that, ever.”

She hugs her sibling to her chest tightly, obviously not believing him, and Virgil’s brow wrinkles, wondering how on earth he can get them to calm down. He needs to get them somewhere safe, and find them a place to heal, rather than let them go back home and be harmed by their mother, but where—

… Mother had told him to choose.

He looks at the trio, trembling hard before him- and it clicks.

 _“… Come little children, I’ll take thee away,”_ he starts, slow and soft, the song familiar on his lips despite that he had never even thought of something like it before. _“Into a land of enchantment…”_

The Pooka is looking up at him in a way that is closer to awe than terror now, and Virgil takes it as encouragement, singing more.

_“Come little children- the time’s come to play!”_

He pulls up earth, molds it, freezes it, and coats it in mistletoe, until it has become a replacement ball, and he hands it to the younger child gently. The kid stares up at him, almost hopeful.

 _“Here in my garden of sha~adows,”_ he adds, and then stands, hoping his pixie-leading isn’t as bad as Adder had claimed, and starting into the forest. The first line of the next verse is barely off his lips when the three begin following him.

The Pooka looks delighted by this turn of events, and Virgil chuckles to himself. It’s not often at all a White Thing can claim they chased one of the gentry, rather than being Hunted themselves. He throws himself into it for them, making the chase a game, grinning as they begin to uncurl themselves from fear and follow as eagerly as he leads.

 _Mother,_ he thinks, reaching out to the shadows around them. _Might you prepare the clearing? I think we’re going to have some long-term guests._

 _Your choice,_ she thinks amusedly. _Make more hammocks._

He rolls his eyes, but gentles his song further until it’s done, until he reaches his clearing and all three of the kids crash into the open area after him.

“Hey,” he greets, and the Pooka squeaks.

“Hi!!”

“Hello,” the little girl says, and her sibling sucks their thumb, gazing at him with interest.

“I wanted to ask you all something,” Virgil hums, crouching once more. “Firstly. Mx. Pooka- are you alone?”

The light in the Pooka’s eyes dims some, and she nods slowly. “My- um. My daddy was captured by the last Hunt.”

Virgil’s heart breaks for her, and he nods slowly. “And… Ms. Human, and your- sibling?”

“Brother,” she corrects, and he nods slowly.

“Your home… it isn’t safe to go back to, is it.”

Her lip wobbles some.

“… Ma hits us harder than Da ever did, if that- if that’s what you mean,” she whispers. Virgil growls under his breath.

“Well, in that case, I would like to offer you all something,” he says, and holds up a hand when the Pooka’s eyes widen with fear. “Not as a deal, or as a trap. I want to help.”

“What do you mean by that?” the Pooka mumbles, shuffling her paws, and Virgil smiles.

“I am very lonely as the Prince of the Forest,” he admits, standing and gesturing to his hammock in the treetop. “Until recently, it was just me and my Mother, and for a little bit I had a brother, but he hurt me terribly and had to- had to go.”

He has to take a moment to compose himself, blinking the tears back, and then continues. “You all, on the other hand, need some protection from the sorrows of the world. So… I am offering you a home, in exchange only for your company. It can be fun company, or it can be cool company; all I request is that if you wish to leave, you tell me, so I may escort you to where you must go and so we don’t cause each other pain by staying.”

He glances at them, nervous. “I will help you gather food and water, and will make you clothes, and provide anything you need. And- you never have to stay, but—“

“Will you protect us from the Hunt?” the Pooka says softly, voice full of a desperate hope. “And- not hurt us or hit us?”

Virgil nods, hardly able to speak.

“Of course I won’t hit you,” he tells them, and his voice hardens. “If anyone does, tell me, and I will ensure they **never** hurt you again.”

The trio exchange glances, and then the brother toddles over, setting his ball down and raising his arms out to Virgil, asking for a hug. Virgil returns it- and it feels—

_Warm, a puzzle piece falling into place, as if he is meant to be a caretaker, as if his purpose is more than just to ensure the forest is balanced, it feels—_

_(Fingers curling inward, calling a child into his arms and away from their neglectful parent. Offering an adventure to a child eager to explore. Saving a girl from her debauched uncle. Helping a Summer out from a log where his Autumn sister had stuffed him and calling him his own. Stealing a boy from the family who would deny him food to eat. Calling a teen eager to get away from his unaccepting family and opening his arms to them where her family would never think of it. Swooping a girl into his shadows before her lover can harm her._

_Giving homes, protection, happiness, and love to the orphans, the abandoned, the needy, the wanting…_

_Charming a lad in with dances and song until he is bold enough to walk away from his human family and not look back. Murmuring quietly to a babe as he replaces them with a stock and whisks them into the night. Pixie-leading a toddler until he can claim them as his own child. Listening to a kid who everyone ignores and becoming his confidante, nevermind that others avoid him due to the whispers of Virgil’s shadows, and accepting him into his fold._

_Sending dreams to and speaking with a girl from a swing, offering her fun and a place to stay lest she needs it, and then Suggesting that her mother fall into her own passions so the child must find another to care for her._

_… and the want_ ed _.)_

It feels _right_.

When Virgil pulls back, the shadows are curling in all around them, shaping their home, and he is more confident than he has ever been since Adder was created. He gives the three a sweet, sharp-toothed smile- and they all smile back.

“Call me Father.”


End file.
